Hazel nodded. “Yeah.” In a whisper, she added, “Dad doesn’t kiss Uncle Sam.”
Wyatt’s cheeks darkened. “Hazel!”
He’d only kiss Raph, not Sam. And that killed the uncertainty in Raph’s gut. Wyatt was bonded to him. Very much interested in him. Raph wanted to pull him close, feel Wyatt’s body flush against his.
“Just saying the truth.” Hazel smiled, all innocent.
Wyatt sighed. “Right. What’s this about an audition?”
“Dad signed us up for one. I told Penny to pick a song.”
“Damn it, Raph.” Wyatt grimaced, flopping down on Hazel’s abandoned seat. “They don’t even know I’ve met you.”
“Think I don’t know that?” Raph winced. “On hindsight, I shouldn’t have agreed to it. When did you last play the piano?”
“Two weeks back, maybe.” Wyatt peered at him. “When did you last play the violin?”
“Maybe a year or two. I’ve just been maintaining mine, but no real playing.”
“That’s a pity,” Wyatt said, something flickering through his face. Pity? “I loved hearing you play.”
Years ago, on sunny afternoons, Wyatt had sat cross-legged on Raph’s bed, watching as Raph played their favorite songs. It had been bittersweet; Wyatt had made it plenty clear that he was interested in Raph. And Raph had always pushed him away.
“I want to hear, too,” Hazel said, bouncing. The French braid slipped completely out of Raph’s fingers. Raph sighed, combing her hair out. It was impossible for him to tie that braid.
“Think you can bring your violin over sometime?” Wyatt grinned. “I’ll treat you to dinner if you do.”
Raph swallowed, his stomach growling. He hadn’t eaten. And Wyatt’s enthusiasm was difficult to refuse. “Yeah, I guess I could. But I’m rusty. It’ll sound godawful when I start practicing.”
“That’s okay,” Wyatt said. “I just wanted to hear you play again.”
He looked all warm and soft in the diner’s lights, his eyes bright, his hair golden. And Raph breathed in deep, unable to look away. Wyatt was beautiful. Precious. Raph wanted to make him smile, wanted Wyatt to nestle into his chest. If he had to play his violin again, well. That wasn’t the end of the world.
13
Wyatt
The pregnancy was progressing, as certainly as the sun rose and set. Wyatt sighed as he keyed in the latest orders, his limbs heavy. The fatigue had begun in the last few days; he was tired every time he woke, and he’d been struggling not to fall asleep before he returned home.
All things considered, this pregnancy was a lot easier than his previous—he wasn’t working two jobs a day now, and he had a warm bed to sleep in at night.
When the kitchen bell tinkled, Wyatt picked up the order, serving it up to Raph and Hazel’s table. Hazel was back at the braids again. Raph craned his neck, his nostrils flaring.
“Want the smaller bowl?” Wyatt teased, setting Hazel’s half-filled bowl in front of him.
Hazel leaned over the table. “Is that mine? Or does Uncle Raph not like the seaweed, too?”
Ten minutes ago, Wyatt had promised him the house special. Raph had nodded, barely glancing at the menu. And Wyatt hadn’t known if Raph wasn’t interested in the noodles, or if he trusted that the food would be good, no matter what he had.
“No seaweed in both these bowls,” Wyatt said, sliding Hazel’s bowl in front of her. Then he set Raph’s noodles down, watching as Raph took in the sprinkle of chopped green onion, the slices of slow-cooked pork, the hard-boiled egg cut in half. “Unless you developed an appetite for seaweed while you were gone.”
Raph glanced up at him, his eyes unreadable. “You remembered?”
“Of course I do. How can I forget?”
They’d shared afternoons at the mansion, where Mom would bring home bags of expiring food from the grocery store. Wyatt had torn into the packets of crispy roasted seaweed, salty, paper-thin layers that would stick to his tongue. Raph had never liked them. He’d nibbled on the crackers instead, offering to share, but Wyatt had never been a cracker fan.
We’re two halves of a whole, he’d told Raph. You eat the food I don’t like, and I eat the food you don’t like.
Until Wyatt made noodles with broth, and Raph had asked for a second serving, then a third. The same noodles that Wyatt now sold at the drive-in.
Wyatt blinked away those memories, watching as Raph grabbed a pair of chopsticks. Hazel was already slurping down her noodles.
“Hazel’s faster than you,” he said, chuckling. “Are you losing to her?”
Raph grinned. “Nah. I want to savor your food.”
And maybe that sounded dirty, with the way Raph’s tongue flicked over his lips.
“I skipped dinner at Mom and Dad’s,” Raph said. “Wasn’t keen on staying there with Grandma.”
Wyatt grimaced. Grandma was always a sore subject; there wasn’t any way he could talk about her and smile. “Well, you’ve found yourself some good company.”
He wanted to run his fingers through Raph’s unruly black hair. Instead, Wyatt kept his hands to himself, watching as Raph folded a thin slice of braised pork into his mouth, his eyelids fluttering shut. “Mm.”
Wyatt knew the taste of that pork—the mellow salt of the soy sauce, the sweet hint of mirin, the fragrance of ginger and garlic, simmered for hours until the flavors married. “Like it?”
“Gods, yeah,” Raph groaned, and maybe Wyatt shouldn’t be watching him eat, because it sounded like sex.
Raph pushed another slice of pork into his mouth, chewing, his throat working, his lips glistening with broth. Wyatt gulped. This was why he hadn’t fed Raph any of the drive-in’s regular food. Because he’d known Raph would love it, and appreciate it, and maybe Wyatt was enjoying the way he ate far too much.
“I’ll be back later,” Wyatt said, so he had an excuse not to look at Raph.
“I’ll check in with you before I bring Hazel home,” Raph said, meeting his eyes. Wyatt’s heart skipped a beat.
Maybe he was falling in love with Raph. He shouldn’t.
If they’d only been bondmates, tied together by a baby, it wouldn’t have felt quite as wrong. But Wyatt
